


Scars of the Forgotten

by space_kid (orphan_account)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Based on Tumblr Post, Deceased Castiel, M/M, Scar fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-18 11:30:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2346926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/space_kid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester has a lot of scars, usually showing them off. Except for one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Scars of the Forgotten

**Author's Note:**

> Based on a tumblr post that makes me cry everytime. I wish I could find it, but no such luck.

As a hunter of the supernatural, Dean Winchester has come to terms with the fact that he will have many scars into his adult life. To match his freckles, Dean has scratches, cuts, bites, and tears. Freckles from the sun, scratches from werewolf claws, cuts to prove he's not possessed, bites from a vampire, tears of the dead. Dean takes pride in his scars, showing off the more badass ones like gashes in his calf and scrapes on his back. When he'd bring someone home, they'd kiss all the scars away, pretending to give a damn, pretending to be in on the secret of Dean. As their lipstick painted lips would travel his body, leaving a trail of blood red, they sometimes asked why Dean never took his shirt off.

He had become so self conscious about his chest that it was bordering on concerning. Dean _never _took his shirt off, damn weather and stains. Sam asked him about it once, when his clothes caught on fire in a freak candle plus ghost incident, and Dean shrugged it off. The shirt was consumed by flames, days past charred, and he still refused to remove it. Sam asked him why. Dean ignored him as he doused himself in water. But the problem was the water has a funny way of making fabric transparent. In the light of the day, Sam could clearly see a large and red scar, sitting atop Dean's chest like angry mountains. Sam mentally winced at the pain Dean must've felt at these weird looking burns. The younger Winchester's eyes widen at the sudden sight, hand reaching out to see if this was real, and not the devil's game. Dean's face hardened, as he stepped back, turning his back on his brother, shoulders right with tension. He mumbled something Sam didn't understand, as the eldest Winchester made his way to the bathroom. Sam made no move to stop him, only watching his back.__

When he arrived, Dean took a good long _look _at himself. He pushed out the toxic thoughts of his messy hair, tired eyes, clenched jaw, to look at the facts. Green eyes that have shed tears, seen death, closed at the inevitable. Lips that have kissed many people, spoke words that decided that fate of billions, ate their way across America. A splatter of freckles, laugh lines, early signs of scruff. Dean aged a lot more then most, mentally and physically. He knows how to stop devils, demigods, angels, leviathians, and many more grotesque creatures. Dean notices some light as cotton scars on his face, barely bigger then fingernails scatter his face around his eyes and cheeks. He doesn't even remember getting those. He notices just how bright his eyes are, in a natural and free way, but he knew that his features were anything but free and natural. How could anything on his body be natural and free after witnessing bloody murder after bloody murder?__

Dean sighed, turning a cheek to his thoughts, and he realized he was frigid in his soaked through white shirt, getting goosebumps. Dean shivered, looking back at the bathroom door, making sure it was closed and locked to Sam. When he made sure it was, he peeled the shirt off his bronzed chest, letting it drop in a soggy pile on the white tiled floor, water escaping the fabric. Dean tore his eyes off the material, and looked at his reflection. His eyes were glued to his scar, red and flaring like raw skin. Memories suddenly broke through the wall he built up, causing a mountain of blackened flashbacks and jagged feelings. Dean looked at his scar, and finally let himself process the memories he has, really looking at what occurred on that terrible night. The night he received the scar of the forgotten one.

* * *

_The night was a lonely one, only Dean and Castiel at the bunker, one reviewing notes from a previous case, the other walking around, just scanning his blue eyes on the cabinets and bookshelves. Sam had gone out, trying to catch a ghost all on his own after he made a petty deal with Dean about who could catch one faster. Castiel had decided to accompany Dean on his journey, promising Sam that he'd catch up with him later. Dean and Cas exchanged small talk, but have now fallen into comfortable silence, like they mostly do. Occasionally, Dean flicked his eyes over to his angel, who he always caught watching him, before he looked away, pretending not to be so obvious. Dean stared at Castiel, giving a small smile to the trench coated back, dark pants, dress shoes, and mussed up hair. He'd tear his eyes away when Castiel looked back at him. The game they played continued on until there was a harsh flutter of wings, and suddenly two angels standing there, glaring at Dean with fiery intensity. Dean abruptly stood up, chair knocking back, papers askewed in disarray. The angels advanced toward him, angels blades held, footsteps increasing. They hissed that they have seen his soul, and were disgusted by their darkness that coated it like caramel on an apple. Dean looked at them with confusion, before they began swinging their blades in fury. He jumped back, dodging and maneuvering from slick knives and a soft punches that came roaring toward him. As they attacked, they chanted about how this abomination should be destroyed before it spreads, before it has a chance to grow into something foul and murderous. Dean tried desperately to tell them off, to say that that is not who he is, the Michael sword, the Righteous Man. They ignored his pleas, however, and continued on their rampage. ___

_There was one final thrust of silver metal, and Dean expected the feeling of his insides spilling out of his body onto the bunker's sacred floor. But all he sees is tan and dark hair. And he sees a blinding light, so bright he has to shut his eyes so they don't melt out of his skull and drip away. When he dares to look away, he falls on the floor, the tan mass falling to his right. When the angels made an advancement toward the two, he sees them disappear, in a new light and then they are alone, the two. Dean attempts to stand up, when a third light shines, and is accompanied by a boiling pain on his chest. Dean yells out in pain, his cries echoing throughout the walls and bouncing into his ears once more. When the boiling pain subsides, he looks down to his abused chest, and recoils at the sight of burned flesh and charred t-shirt, flaking away into dust. It look as though someone draped him over an open flame, and left him to burn. Dean finally looks away, and sees the tan material of the second mass slowing soaking with blood. He notices the material, as the one he had been observing and fantasizing about for the last 3 hours. ___

Castiel.

_Dean does make it up, skidding over to his angel, turning his body over to face him up. Cas has his blue eyes turned open in a horrified matter, showing immediate fear, the blue seeming to look more then grey then anything. A trail of blood leaves his open mouth, beginning to dry against stubbled chin and cheek. Castiel's hand is covered in his own blood, and to him the angel sign. Cas was the one who made the angels disappear, saving Dean's life again. Cas just wouldn't stop making Dean owe him. He would always been in debt to his angel, Dean realized. The hunter lifted Castiel's head into his lap, closing his eyes so those damn orbs wouldn't scar him even more. The hole in Cas' chest bleeding like the blood was trying to escape Castiel's body. Dean felt the tears well in his eyes, seeing this man, this angel, this being, stabbed by his own people and left to die. Tears flow over the apple of his cheeks, falling onto Castiel's face like warm rain. A sob escaped his body, as his entire body shook with despair and utter loss of not only his best friend, but something so much more. They never got to explore the questioning looks and lingering fingers. Dean leaned down to Cas' ear, whispering all the things he would've said, all the things he almost said, all,the thing he should've said. I love you. I need you. I miss you. I want you. All the things Dean wanted to say, did say in his head, at night. He was disrupted by his confessions by his stupid body needing to release these useless tears. As he speaks, he hears another flutter of wings, and subtle footsteps approaching. Dean looks up from Cas' neck to see Hannah, one of Castiel's sisters. She has a mask of woe, seeing as he brother just died at the ends of another angel. She looked down at Dean, who only clutched the other man tighter, fingers gripping tightly. Hannah knelt down, while Dean glared at her from red rimmed glassy eyes. The absolute last thing he needed was more angels, probing Dean's emotions. Hannah offered a small smile, as she tries to calm his nerves which are currently on fire with pain. She reaches a hand out to soothe, but he doesn't want it. Not now, not ever. The only person he wants right now is Cas, holding him and loving him and telling him it's okay. Hannah face suddenly hardens, only a millisecond, before a flutter of wings occurs, and Dean is alone, without anything to hold and anything to cry into. He crumbled onto his knees, sobbing helplessly, not entirely giving a damn about how pathetic he sounded. He didn't care about his mind screaming to get up, recollect himself and just down a bottle of Jack. But right now, he just needs to cry out his everything, no walls, no secrets, no holding back. ___

_The stench hit him like a friet train, inhaling something burning. Dean stood up, shaking and weak. He walked, or stumbled, over to the middle of the room, and saw it: burned angel wings on the floor. Dean swallowed bile as he realized a chunk of it was gone. He looked down at his angry skin, and realized they were burned into his chest, feathers defined and scorching. A piece of Castiel was be on him, and would be forever be on him. This night, tonight, would be burned onto his flesh until the day he died. This memory would never escape him, he'd never outrun it, never bury it. Every time he'd look in the mirror, the blinding light would flash in every direction, causing blindness in a heaetbreaking way. How would he live knowing the love of his life sacrificed his life for him? ___

_Dean finally did vomit. ___

* * *

Dean took a shaky breath, fingers tracing the feathers that were thought to the touch. He could've sworn he'd still feel the burn of angel wings, for even a second. Dean swallows an aborted sob, and corrected his slouched posture in the mirror. Be there for Cas. Be the man Castiel fell in love with. Be a _Winchester, _dammit. Dean forced a spark of anger in his eyes, before leaving the bathroom to face Sam.__

"I need you, Cas," he whispered to the sky before opening the door.


End file.
